I Only Hurt Myself
by Major Trouble
Summary: Cinna's point of view about the day of the Quell interviews. One-shot.


**Disclaimer: I do not own _The Hunger Games_ (well, I have a copy of the book :P), nor do I have any affiliation with _The Hunger Games_, Suzanne Collins, etc. The characters and most of the spoken words belong to the wonderfully brilliant Suzanne Collins.  
**

Flavius passes by my office, tears streaming down his face. I know that Octavia already left. That means just Venia is alone to prep my girl on fire. None of them, bless their innocence, know what's going to happen to their ticket to all the best parties. All they are sure of is that she will die. I'm determined that she won't.

When I deem Venia has had enough time to finish up, even compensating for her lack of a team, I enter the room. Absorbed in her work and busy dodging Katniss's gaze, the prep doesn't look up as I enter silently. Katniss notices me, however. "Hi, Cinna," she says. Quiet, but more in a don't-scare-Venia sort of way than an I'm-terrified-get-me-out-of-here kind of way. Brave girl.

Her voice makes Venia look over her shoulder and silently stop, backing up. I walk around Katniss in a lazy circle, examining every inch of flesh. Tonight must be perfect.

"You can go, Venia," I say gently. She takes Katniss's hands in her own and looks her straight in the eye, probably for the first time all day.

"We would all like you to know what a… privilege it has been to make you look your best." She leaves quickly, and I suspect she has gone to find comfort in the arms of Octavia and Flavius.

Katniss looks at me, and I know what she's thinking. Everyone knows that she isn't returning again. Or at least, they think they know. I promised her no tears, and I'd keep that promise even if I had reason to cry. But why cry over the death of someone who isn't going to die?

"So, what am I wearing tonight?" she asks, breaking the short silence. I hold up and unzip the heavy garment bag she has been eyeing.

"President Snow put in the dress order himself. Even though they announced the Quarter Quell the night of the photo shoot, people still voted for their favorite dress, and this was the winner. The president says you're to wear it tonight. Our objections were ignored." In the safety of my own mind, I add _although that doesn't mean he's going to get exactly what he's expecting to see._

I watch as she rubs the silk, thinking. Clearly, it's getting to her a little. But all she says is "Well, it'd be a shame to waste such a pretty dress."

As I carefully help her into the white silk, I think about the coal black feathers it will become. The silk, pearls, and long, long sleeves are indeed heavy, but the alterations made it even heavier. I'm not surprised when she gives a complaining shrug. "Was it always this heavy?"

Luckily, I had prepared for her to ask this. There aren't any answers aside from the truth that would actually make any sense, but I had to come up with something. "I had to make some slight alterations because of the lighting." Katniss nods, but of course I can tell that she doesn't see how this would make a difference.

I help her into the matching shoes; add her veil and strings of more pearls. Touch up her makeup. Have her walk. The effect is even more beautiful than I'd hoped, and while I had honestly objected to her wearing this dress, I now am quite happy about it. There's no better way than this.

"You're ravishing," I tell her. "Now, Katniss, because this bodice is so fitted, I don't want you raising your arms about your head. Well, not until you twirl, anyway."

"Will I be twirling again?" I realize as she asks it that I really must have a thing for twirling. Maybe I should watch ballet if I ever get out of this alive.

"I'm sure Caesar will ask you." After all, he's seen the effect that has with my dresses. "And if he doesn't, you suggest it yourself. Only not right away. Save it for your big finale."

"You give me a signal so I know when," she requests. I hold back a smile.

"All right," I agree, although I know I won't need to. "Any plans for your interview? I know Haymitch left you two to your own devices."

"No, this year I'm just winging it. The funny thing is, I'm not nervous at all."

No surprise there; she's been rock steady all day. I kiss her on the top of the head. "Let's go, girl on fire."

We head out to meet up with the others. Peeta is, of course, wearing his half of the wedding garb requested by President Snow. I watch the two eye each other, clearly agreeing without words that this is ridiculous. No one else disagrees.

Portia and I take off for the stylists' platform after giving them each a hug. As I walk away, I hear Finnick Odair's "I can't believe Cinna put you in that thing" and Katniss's defensive response of "He didn't have any choice. President Snow made him."

Smiling, I know she'll be fine. "Thank you, Fire Girl," I breathe, using Thresh's nickname for my rebellious little girl. I do wonder briefly why Peeta was never The Boy on Fire, but I suppose that's because Lover Boy outshone the flames.

Portia grabs my hand to pull me towards the stage, and I realize I slowed down considerably as the thought crossed my mind.

However strange it is, dressing the two for their wedding, Peeta and Katniss look stunning together; or, as I said earlier, ravishing. The crowd cries out in shock and awe at their wonderful attire. Their names ring out across the square, and I even catch mine and Portia's once or twice. Everyone loves us for our fiery Games debut, but ours was nothing compared to the star-crossed lovers from District Twelve.

The victors take their seats, girl boy in District order. Cashmere steps up to Caesar, and the brutal Career we all know she can be doesn't make an appearance. She and her brother, Gloss, talk about the Capitol and how the kind people will suffer because their victors are being forced back into the arena. A lot of the tributes talk about the same sort of thing. Beetee even wonders if the Quell is legal. Seeder and Chaff insist that Snow could change the Quell if he wanted too. Of course he could, but he won't.

Finnick's interview has to be the most entertaining. He reads off a love poem he wrote about his one true love in the Capitol. I happen to know him well enough to know he loves Annie, the unstable girl Mags replaced in the reaping, but it's quite amusing to watch people fainting because they think Finnick Odair is in love with them.

When Katniss is introduced, the beautiful dress I designed for her wedding causes a riot. Even Caesar is showing his distress a bit as he tries to calm them down.

Although I don't want to take my eyes off her, I look around at the crowd briefly, and see tee shirts, jackets, necklaces, pins, hats, tattoos, all designed after Katniss's mockingjay pin. This crowd is still calling out to change the Quell and keep their victors, especially the star-crossed lovers. Katniss is running out of time.

When they settle down enough that Caesar can get a word in, he asks, "So, Katniss, obviously this is a very emotional night for everyone. Is there anything you'd like to say?"

Katniss's voice trembles ever so slightly as she speaks, but I'm sure most people don't notice it. "Only that I'm so sorry you won't get to be at my wedding… but I'm glad you at least get to see me in my dress. Isn't it just… the most beautiful thing?" Without the cue I haven't bothered to give, Katniss begins to twirl, raising her arms up above her head.

While I'm still angry that Snow wouldn't let me pick her outfit, I'm glad this was the dress that was picked. It is the perfect design for what is beginning to happen.

The crowd, naturally, starts to scream. Even Portia gasps and grasps my hand. I glance at her quickly and give a slight nod, which allows her to sigh in relief. This is planned, she now knows.

There's plenty of smoke, as planned, which obscures what's happening to the dress itself. But still I can see the fear on Katniss's face. Perhaps I should have warned her? That in and of itself would have been dangerous, and I know that keeping her in the dark was safer. She handles it well, though, and keeps twirling. She trusts me.

The look on her face is slightly baffled as she slows to a stop, the flames gone. I watch as she looks down at herself. It is exactly what I wanted to happen, and looks even better on Katniss than I could have imagined. A coal black dress covered in feathers with white patches on the sleeves. Katniss is no longer my girl on fire. She is my mockingjay.

Cautiously, Caesar reaches out to touch Katniss's headdress. "Feathers. You're like a bird."

"A mockingjay, I think." But she doesn't think it. She knows it, I can tell by the look on her face as she gives a flap of her wings. "It's the bird on the pin I wear as a token."

Admiring her dress, Caesar is facing me. His composure slips a little, giving him away, and Katniss notices. Luckily, I'm not sure anyone else does.

Recovering quickly, Caesar goes on to congratulate me. "Well, hats off to your stylist. I don't think anyone can argue that that's not the most spectacular thing we've ever seen in an interview. Cinna, I think you better take a bow!"

I oblige, standing to give a small bow. My eyes are trained on Katniss, and a flicker of horror crosses her face. I know without a doubt she is thinking of my earlier words.

"_Don't worry. I always channel my emotions into my work. That way I don't hurt anyone but myself."_

Yes, I've hurt myself badly. I've signed my own death warrant.

But with any luck, I've signed President Snow's, too.


End file.
